


The Party

by Bayerick



Category: Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Genre: Anonymous Sex, Biting, Blindfolds, Costume Parties & Masquerades, F/M, I think?, Kissing, Murder, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Smut, Teasing, This is just smut, Vaginal Sex, i've died and gone to hell, more tags to come when this thing gets finished
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-26 14:43:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12559704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bayerick/pseuds/Bayerick
Summary: Two characters (Lucien Lachance and Severyn Ulasi) who don't know each other (or do they?) hook up at a masquerade ball.My friends wanted me to write smut, so I did.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i'm dead jim  
> i can't write smut??????? help

Though the Count of Skingrad was a remarkably introverted man, he had an assortment of retainers that enjoyed company. Lavish parties would frequently be thrown at their estates; wine and food fit for the highest members of society, and the city’s wealthy individuals would flit around the grounds, tipsy on spiced wine and their own egos.  
Such gatherings that attracted the upper crust were frequented by those who wished to subdue them; petty dukes armed with stilettos ready to strike at one misplaced word. And while the personal contracts were often solved by plying the perpetrators with more wine, some would have to be…. outsourced.

And this would be where assassins from the Dark Brotherhood would often find their openings, their better paying jobs. Specifically, Severyn Ulasi found herself in the elegant main hall of one of Skingrad’s more luxurious villas, situated on a hill overlooking the vast vineyards it was known for. Velvet and silk draperies emblazoned with the city crest were hung from the high rafters, and everywhere she looked, people were enjoying themselves. All were masked, due to the playful proclivities of the host, who had demanded the festivities be “masquerade” themed. Each attendant aside from the servants wore such clothing and accessories; from the beautiful to the grotesque. Severyn spotted one couple lounging on gold-embroidered couches near the entry, one in a red and black motley wearing the face of a devil poised in an ugly laugh, the other with the head of an antlered deer, speckled with brown and white paint. How quaint to see an unusual predator seeking such a common prey, she mused upon the sight.

Severyn, having been aware of the dress code beforehand, had clothed herself in a long-sleeved burgundy dress; elegant but not overly so. The mask upon her face covered her face--scarred lips and all--was painted in a traditional style of black, gold and white. Not lavish enough to draw too much attention--her purpose was business and not pleasure, though Severyn would be damned to Sithis if she didn’t indulge herself a little. The moon poured liquid silver onto the white marble floors, the air was scented with exotic spices and expensive wine-- there was no way in Oblivion Severyn would not try and enjoy herself on such a night.

* * *

 

When raucous laughter erupted from the ballroom and sung lute music floated in through the ivy-laced windows, Severyn decided to follow the noise. It would be best to scope out her target in a room where none could spot her suspicious gazing for all the people. She knew that the man she sought to kill would be wearing a white-gold eagle mask adorned with the feathers of the very bird itself--not very hard to find, she imagined, due to its lavishness. Baron Felix Cyprianus, a Skingrad native who had risen to quick fortune, was her intended kill on this night. Her contractor had suggested it had been “untoward and wicked ways” that caused him to gain such wealth in such a short time, and wished a quick death for the nobleman. Severyn had initially been loathe to take the contract; having said many times that killing nobles for petty reasons bored her. However, when the concept of a masquerade party arose in conversation as well as a high paid sum, she readily agreed.  
Without much of a fuss, Severyn entered the spacious ballroom--attendees were already starting to waltz to the hired bard’s songs. A few gripped champagne flutes in their weak and heady grasps, and she felt that it would be ever so easy to break one of those glass stems and shove it into a bystander’s throat. How utterly intriguing that would be, and what a fuss it would cause, Severyn thought, dreamily. But no, she couldn’t, and the poisoned stiletto strapped to a scabbard on her thigh was suitable enough for the murder she would commit tonight. More guests began to flood in from the other rooms within the estate, chatting animatedly, waving their hands in the overt gestures that so frequently came with higher status. How they did not accidentally stab each other with their forks when they dined she could not guess.

Soon the ballroom was stuffed with garish gowns and robes and masks, chattering and dancing abound to the music that had picked up speed with the entry of the other guests. The eagle-masked man had entered with a crowd of cooing women encircling him, and Severyn groaned aloud. How she hated this type of gathering. It wasn’t that she disliked artistry and lavish accommodations--quite the opposite, actually--but she could not stand the putting on of airs that the upper crust so seemed to adore. Politeness was one thing, but all this fussing about was quite another. If she could only get the Baron to an empty room and just prick him with the dagger--it could be passed off as an accident, a simple accidental brush so that the poison entered his veins. He’d be out and unconscious by the end of the night, and one could easily attribute it to the wealth of alcohol he had imbibed. It was a perfect ruse, and Severyn could have continued remarking upon its well-crafted nature….if she had not been so suddenly and utterly distracted.

A lone man, clothed in black and silver swept into the ballroom like an errant wind, and an instinctive chill took hold of Severyn. His robe’s collar was buttoned all the way to the edge of his neck, where a sliver of olive skin peeked from his black accoutrement. Hair a similar color to his clothing was tied into a ponytail at the nape of his neck, curving down to his shoulderblades elegantly. He moved like a shadow, so fast and so smoothly that Severyn was unable to catch a glimpse of his mask to further identify him. She cursed inwardly, but put the thought behind her. She must not forget her job. She must not forget her job, but that man looked ever so intriguing. What family did he belong to, she wondered? Was he a native to Skingrad or was he but a visitor to this city as she was? Severyn saw him fade into the crowd after stopping to pick up a champagne flute of his own at the refreshments table, and felt a bit sad at the sight. Perhaps he’d show up later. Perhaps not.

The music slowed as it had for many times this evening into a waltz. Severyn thought she had heard it before, maybe at another party she had attended, but it could have also been the small amount of champagne she had sipped through the party that muddled her thoughts. She swayed in the back of the ballroom to the soft music, expecting to give herself only a few moments before she again sought out the Baron she was to murder this eve. But she was soon surprised by a tap on her shoulder.

There, behind her, was Death. Death stared her straight in the face. A shining grimace of skeletal teeth, bone white skull and hollow eye sockets filigreed in thin lines of silver to give the appearance of dancing light within. Severyn’s breath caught her throat. It was a mask, she realized, and not a messenger of the Void come to greet her. How stupid of her to assume, Severyn thought to herself, face flushing under her mask.

The figure clothed in black with the face of Death extended a gloved hand to her own, cocking its head in a cheeky invitation. When it did so, she saw a flash of olive skin, of dark hair tied back-- the man she had seen enter the party earlier was asking her to dance? Sithis take her, but if fate was calling her name it was rude not to answer. Tentatively, she nodded, and accepted the extended hand. It pulled her with surprising strength into the thick of the dancers all swaying and moving dreamily to the current waltz. Her hands felt vaguely clammy with nervousness; she knew how to dance, and she was prepared to act in any way that would protect her cover as a simple attendee to this party. Why was she so suddenly anxious?

A warm leather-clad hand slid smoothly to the small of her back, resting and guiding Severyn in the steps to the slow dance. Severyn jumped slightly in a motion unbefitting of a trained assassin, and she could have sworn Death snickered at her. Her face reddened again, and she restrained herself from intentionally stepping one of her heeled shoes straight onto the man’s boot. The man--Severyn was certain he was a man now, she could tell from his jaw and his figure, which she was trying desperately not to stare at-- stepped with ease that only came from much practice, and though she knew the dance, there was no way that Severyn could match her partner’s elegance. She attempted, though, and the two spun through the crowd--Death and his accomplice.

Severyn rested her hands on the chest of her dance partner--strictly for balance, she told herself, and not to feel the musculature underneath his robes--as they stepped to and fro. Leaning closer to her, Death spoke in a low whisper.

“You dance quite well, but your costume betrays your status. You are not a noble, are you?”

“If my costume was that of a commoner, than it has worked quite well.” Severyn retorted in the same tone, continuing to follow in the lead of the man before her.

“And are you dressed as a commoner intentionally?”

“Maybe yes, maybe no. It is not the custom of a masquerade to reveal one’s true identity. In fact, I would say it is the opposite.”

Death bowed, mockingly. “Then I apologize for offending you, for betraying the code of this party.” A touch of mirth was present in the whisper that time, and Severyn chuckled.

“Apology accepted, Lord Death.” she said, just as mockingly.

A soft bark of laughter came from her partner and she could feel it vibrate, deep and rough, within his chest. They continued to sway for a few moments, and the black cloaked man leaned down once again to speak to her.

“Shall I make this terrible offence up to you, then? I feel horrid having intruded upon such a lady’s personal dignity.” His mouth covered by the Death mask came close to her ear; upon his skin she could smell spiced wine.

Severyn started at that, not expecting such a sudden proposition from a man she didn’t know. Though, something dark within chided her, wasn’t that the fun of masquerades? Midnight trysts with handsome masked men? The story-books you read as a child spoke of this exact thing. Against all assassin’s instincts, she nodded slightly, blushed under her mask, and prayed that her voice showed more strength than her will.

“You….may do that. What do you offer me, Lord Death, in exchange for my wounded pride?”

“Meet me at the library on the second floor, in one hour’s time, and I will show you. Will you do this for me, my lady?” His voice was rich and low, full of dark promise, and the hand at the small of Severyn’s back caressed her in a minute gesture.

“I will meet you in one hour, then.” she murmured, and with that, the hand that had been holding hers for the duration of the dance slipped away. Death tucked a loose silvery strand of hair behind Severyn’s ears, only just grazing the pointed shell with a finger, and she suppressed a shudder. He bowed again, moving further until he was swallowed by the crowd. When Severyn blinked next, he had completely disappeared, leaving her stuttering heartbeat in her mouth.

* * *

The ballroom emptied in due time; not thirty minutes passed until many of the guests went back their own ways into the gardens or the main hall. Baron Cyprianus did the same, drunkenly shuffling into an isolated alcove on the second floor. She followed, dutifully, to a dark nook hidden by draperies and other such fanciful decorations. It took less than a moment for Severyn to wrap a hand over the Baron’s spittle and wine-coated mouth, gagging him with a handkerchief, and stab him in the thigh with her poisoned dagger. It wasn’t a terribly deep cut, but the knife had a hefty amount of elixir on it which would easily incapacitate her victim. He wobbled for a few steps, knocking over a bust of some ancient Cyrodiilic nobleman, and fell to the ground, choking snores escaping the man. The poison would act first as a sleeping agent, but as he rested, it would seep through his blood, coagulating and sickening it. With that, Severyn felt the weight of her contract lift off of her shoulders. What she came here to do was done, and it was a job done well, she gloated.

A clock chimed midnight from a distant room, twelve deep tolls signifying the beginning of the end. It was likely the party would go on for at least two more hours before all the guests went home, Severyn thought, but felt it would be best to leave sooner than later as not to draw suspicion to the baron’s death. She could slip from the party’s consciousness easily. But a flash of memory flickered back to her, radiant with promise, setting a flame low in her stomach. That man dressed as Death had invited her an hour ago to the library, hadn’t he? The idea of leaving the party without any evidence was so much more professional, but Severyn remembered the thrall the man had over her, even for the brief duration of a dance. It was awfully untoward, awfully improper, but something deep within her--likely fueled by decent wine and an even better kill-- wanted to feel the warm leather of his gloves other places than the small of her back.

The Baron had already ceased breathing in the course of six minutes, she noticed as she passed a clock on her way to the library. The poison she had crafted worked better than expected, and that too sent a wave of glowing pride to her head. Confidence was never a good thing too keep too much of, especially not as an assassin, when one had to keep an eye out for any possible danger. But surely, a little bit was alright on such an evening--it was already dangerous to meet a stranger in a library who promised unknown pleasures.

Severyn reached the heavy oaken doors of the second-floor library that would have been resplendent with light during the day. On this evening, however, candlelight was the only thing that glinted off the enameled shelves of the room. She saw a figure by the window, back toward her, standing next to a comfortable looking chaise and an equally decadent reading chair. Slowly, quietly, she approached him, getting maybe four feet away before he turned to face her, the silver filigree of his skull mask reflecting the firelight.

“So, you arrived,” the man spoke, voice still as hushed as it had been in the ballroom.

“I did.” the woman responded.

“You’re late, though. Ten minutes, by the look of the clock.” At this, he gestured with his head towards a stately grandfather clock that ticked away in the corner of the spacious library.  
“You did not say anything about exact timing.” Severyn retorted, voice curt. “I did not come here to be condescended to.”

“No, you came to this library without any idea what awaited you. How reckless of you, my dear.”  
The figure approached her quickly in only a few steps, and she stared deep into the eyeholes of his mask, hoping to find some semblance of humanity there. She could not see anything except pure black shadow.

“I can protect myself if you did anything to harm me,” Her voice turned icy. Perhaps this had been a bad choice, coming here, and she stepped back warily. At that, the man let out a sharp bark of laughter, raising his hands in mock defeat.

“I have no doubt in my mind that you can. Relax, then. I do not intend to hurt you, unless you would ask it of me.”

Severyn’s face flushed at the unexpected words and a nigh inaudible gasp escaped her lips, but she remained composed..“Is ...that...the sort of meeting this is?”

“Is that what sort of meeting you would want?” He raised a gloved hand to cup her jaw, and it took Severyn an immense amount of self control to not lean into the touch.

“Would it be too much for you to not answer my questions with more riddles?” The man chuckled behind his mask, hand brushing through the woman’s hair.

“Death itself may deal in certainties, but I do not.”

“I entreat you, answer but one of my questions, and then I shall leave you to your mystery.” she muttered, a bit irritated at the man’s consistent deflection.

“Go on, then,” His hand finally settled at the nape of her neck, tracing small patterns onto her skin.

“Why did you invite me to this place, truly? I wish to know what I can of your intent.” The figure before her wrapped an arm around her waist, drawing her closer.  
“Can a man not proposition someone he finds uniquely attractive?” he questioned, and though she could not feel his breath through his mask, he spoke against her ear in a way to insinuate it.

“There are hundreds of other women at this gathering. Why me, out of all of them? I am nowhere near their caliber.” she murmured, half to herself, and blushed deeply. The man hummed, softly, and in the dark she could barely see him lift his mask just a sliver. It wasn’t enough to reveal much of his face-- just the end of a prominent nose and a curved, smirking mouth.

“Would you believe me if I called the other attendees at the party...plain? Uninteresting?”

“Unless you gave a clear explanation, I would not.”

“All of the ladies who attended this gathering--they wished to be noticed. One can tell by their dress and their manner. You, on the other hand, were the opposite. Your dress and mask, becoming as they are, are in no way as gaudy. No, you wished to avoid the public eye. I find that interesting.”

“So you do,” Severyn said, breathlessly, as gloved fingers traced over her jaw, barely there.

“I found you and your presence here intriguing, I do not wish to ask why you are here. Masquerades such as these are hotbeds of mystery, and I would not have you ruin the appeal of your own.“ He tucked a finger under her chin, tilting it upwards so that there was merely a breath of space between their lips. “I merely wished to pay my respects, to worship at...an inexplicable altar. Would you let me do this, my dear?”

She could no longer deny him, Severyn thought, and if he was offering to worship her, of all things… surely, there was no harm in letting him do so. With that, she nodded her consent, and lifted her mask. It earned her another quiet chuckle as the man pressed his lips to her own, slow but ardent.

Severyn couldn’t remember the last time she had kissed anyone; perhaps in her earlier years--all prior thoughts were hazy and intangible, and she wondered dazed if the dark-cloaked figure had some sort of poison on his lips to garner such an effect. He caught her lower lip between his teeth, nipping it teasingly, before parting. The kiss had been quick, almost chaste in its simplicity, but Severyn had been floored by it; whether by her own inexperience or the sheer charisma that the man carried with him. She moved forward, gripping his cloak lapels to bring him into another kiss, this one far less pure in its intent.

He answered in kind, gripping the back of Severyn’s neck as her lips moved over his, fervently. His lips were slightly chapped, but warm, and she could taste the slightest bit of spice on his breath. She ran her hands over his jaw, the stubble there grazing her hands, and down his neck where her arms lingered, entangled. When they broke apart, both were breathing heavily.

“I….I don’t know your name. Isn’t it...standard protocol for one to know the name of the person they’re kissing?” Severyn tried to keep her voice steady, but failed. This whole situation was absolutely unreal, but she desperately wanted it to continue.

“Call me Death, if you must.” He chuckled, leaning downwards and leaving kisses that scorched their way down her throat. She didn’t have the will to question at this point.

The man she knew only as Death pressed his lips at the hollow of her neck, sucking a bruise into the thin skin of her collarbone, and Severyn gasped, fingers clutching at his back. He laved his tongue over the mark, hands drifting lower to rest at the divot of Severyn’s waist. Death paused, looked at his companion as if asking for permission to continue. She took the opportunity to drag him to her lips again, where he ran his tongue along the seam of hers in an entreaty. With no hesitation, she opened to him, a barely audible moan soon covered by his mouth.

Though the movement of their was frantic, desperate even, Death guided Severyn backwards until she felt the solidity of a wall behind her. He pressed her against it, his hand resting on the stone framework next to her head. Severyn still had her arms wrapped tightly around her paramour’s neck, and she raked her fingers through his long, dark hair-- loosening it from its once-neat ponytail. It fell around him like a curtain, framing his skeletal mask, and suddenly Severyn wanted nothing more than to see the face behind it. She reached for the tie, intending to pull it free, but with an agile hand, Death stopped her. His fingers closed around her thin wrist, tight enough to restrict but not bruise.

“Don’t,” he murmured, but his voice held a dangerous edge.

Severyn huffed in irritation, which was soon soothed by the touch of his mouth again on her collarbone, then lower. Death dipped down the collar of her dress, biting and kissing what he could reach of her chest in alternation. Her gasps echoed through the empty library, and he laughed softly into her shoulder.

“I haven’t done anything to you, my dear, and yet you let out such wanton cries.”

“Don’t tease me,” Severyn blustered, face red under her mask.

“I shall do exactly that,” Death said, and ran the hand that was previously positioned next to her head ever so slowly down to her thigh, garnering another, louder gasp. “And there is nothing you will do to stop me.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continued from the first chapter. Here's the real smut.

Her fingers fumbled on his robes as the man traced swirling lines back up her thigh, skating over her hip and belly to rest over her breastbone. Severyn’s chest rose, fell, rose again as she tried to catch the breath that so frequently evaded her. Death kissed her again, over the curve of her jaw, her cheek, and the tip of her pointed ear--that made her shudder in his arms, clutch tightly at his lapels. His hand shifted back down to her abdomen, slow and deliberate, and Severyn nearly whined in desperation. She hated to sound so weak, but this man was doing things to her that she hadn’t thought of in years. All this time, she kept isolated, and now that someone was paying such fervent attention to her, Severyn couldn’t help but bend to his every touch.

“What do you want, my dear? Do you want me to touch you more?” Death asked, kissing his way down to her shoulder and sinking his teeth down into her tender skin. He laid a kiss there, moved his tongue where a violet bruise started to bloom on her skin; even though she couldn’t see it in the dark of the library she would definitely see it tomorrow. Her breath hissed out through her teeth and her hips twitched, seeking _something_ out of the empty air.

“Yes, p-please--anything, just _touch_ me, Void take you.” Severyn said, voice cracking.

“How could I say no to such a lovely request?” He responded and his hands drifted downward, lower over her stomach, almost to where she desperately needed, but not quite.

Death smiled and she could see the sharp glint of his teeth from the shadow of his skeletal mask. Severyn had only a fraction of warning before a gloved hand cupped her through her dress. She sighed as he caressed her, soft noises making their way through her lips. Death covered the woman’s mouth with his own, swallowing her vocalisations and slipping his tongue against hers.

“Careful, my dear. Someone will find us if you’re too loud.” He murmured into her mouth, and she could feel the smile there. Driven by a sudden petulance, she bit down on the man’s lip, near hard enough to draw blood. A choked moan eked its way out of his throat, and immediately Severyn wanted to hear more of that.

“You’re the one who seems to be making noise, now,” the woman grinned, devilishly. Though she couldn’t see Death’s face, she could almost feel his indignance radiating out in waves. She went to kiss him again, forcefully, but he moved at the last second so that her mouth barely grazed his cheek. Not to be outdone, she ducked her head to his throat, leaving a multitude of small bites--each garnering small murmurs of noise from the man before her.

His hand left her lower abdomen, and she would have protested if she hadn’t felt him pushing up her long skirts with newly-bared fingers. They were calloused slightly, but as warm as his lips had been, and Severyn felt all the blood in her body rush to meet his hands where they lay. Death worked his hand slowly up her bare thigh and when he finally met their apex, Severyn buried her face in his shoulder, face heated and breath disordered. The man hummed, moving his fingers over her most delicate parts as she clutched his robes frantically.

Before long, her legs began to tremble under her, threatening to give out as he touched her. Upon noticing, he leaned down to kiss her temple, a surprisingly gentle motion. His voice betrayed no evidence that he was as affected as she as he whispered into her ear.

“There’s a chaise over there, dear. Go sit, and I’ll attend to you there.” Death said, and Severyn followed his direction before her mind could catch up to her body. She reclined on the red velvet seat, mussed silver hair and blown pupils reflecting the candlelight. He knelt before her, hands running over her knees and then higher still, leaving small marks where he worried the flesh of her inner thighs in his teeth. Severyn took off her smallclothes, and her lover growled approvingly as she did so. The material of the Death mask rubbed at her uncomfortably, though, and she stopped the man before he could move any further.

“Your mask...could you take it off, please? It hurts a bit.” she stammered.

Death paused, thoughtfully. “I don’t wish you to know my identity. That would ruin things, I think.”

“Then I won’t look at you. I’ll close my eyes, or something.”

At that, she saw the faintest smile under the skeletal mask. With a brisk move, the man before her undid his black cravat, handing it to Severyn.

“Blindfold yourself, then. Then I’ll take the mask off.”

She stared at him, wide-eyed beneath her own mask, but tied the fabric around her face. Severyn heard the gentle shuffling of what she assumed to be Death removing his headpiece and putting it to the side.

“There we are,” he muttered.

Severyn could barely see anything before in the dark library, but now she was absolutely lost with regards to sight. Her fingers were tense on the chaise’s velvety surface, body ready to jump. All of her instincts told her to undo the blindfold--it was never good for an assassin to go without any of their senses, much less sight. She was comforted, though, by a hand gently running down her bared leg.

“Relax, my dear, and let me have you. You’ve trusted me this far, and have I wronged you in that time?”

She shook her head, and the man laughed; without the mask, the sound was clear as a bell.

“Good, good,” he responded, and continued to kiss back over her hip and thigh. Severyn reached a hand down to where his head moved, running it through his long, dark hair. She brushed it over his face, attempting to gain some sort of insight of his appearance. If she wasn’t allowed to look at him, perhaps she could imagine him in her mind’s eye. A prominent nose, sharp cheekbones, a strong jaw; she traced his features with delicate motions until he took her hand in his own, moving it away. Death laid a kiss at the crux of her wrist, and she shivered.

“That’s enough of that,” he chided, but without the icy tone he had when Severyn tried to remove his mask. Reluctantly, she lowered her hand to stay in his hair, tugging experimentally.

Death made some noise of pleasure back in his throat when she did so, and it sent a similar wave of eagerness through her.

His lips lingered over her hipbone once more, and she could feel his breath on her sex as he kissed teasingly over her stomach. Severyn squirmed under the sensation, and without preamble, he pinned her hips to the chaise.

 

* * *

 

Severyn couldn’t see him move downwards, but she felt it in every part of her being when his tongue finally touched her folds. He was slow at first, savoring her in a way she wasn’t sure she had ever received in all her years. All of the trysts she had had--and they were few in number--were quick and desperate tumbles in her youth. Nothing like this, nothing so experienced and lustful as this. She wanted to bask in his touch like it was sunlight in a grove, languish in it until she tired.

Death lapped broad strokes over her, eliciting small moans and gasps that escalated in fervor as he continued. The lack of vision made the sensations even stronger, Severyn assumed, and felt that she was reaching her peak inordinately fast. She ground against Death’s face, desperate for more, anything to help her to cross that quick-approaching edge. Severyn tugged softly against his hair, whispering exclamations to the heated air.

“Gods, I’m close,” she said breathlessly, and her paramour hummed as he moved his mouth, the vibrations causing her vision to white out at the edges. He closed his lips around her nub, sucking at it gently, and that broke her, absolutely, finally.

Severyn tangled her hands in the man’s hair, a soft cry escaping as orgasm crested over her.

She lay, breathing hard, as she felt him move away. The next thing she knew, the blindfold was removed and the skeletal mask was back in her sight, the rictus grin unchanging. Death still knelt before her, and she saw her slick over his mouth before he wiped it away with the back of his hand. When next he spoke, his voice was gravelly with unconcealed desire.

“Do you want me?” he asked, and Severyn had no idea how he could. Didn’t he feel her trembling under his touch, desperate for it?

“Yes, gods yes, please.” she said, and drew him close in a kiss. She could taste herself on his tongue, and it sent sparks through every inch of her. He moved onto the chaise, laying Severyn back with one hand on her chest, the other unbuckling his trousers. She reached for him as he did, and Death couldn’t stifle a groan as her hand wrapped around his cock.

“Eager, are we?” he murmured into her ear, bucking slightly into her touch.

“We’re past pretense, I think,” Severyn whispered back. “I’m allowed, at this point.”

“Of course,” Her grip tightened on his hardness, and when he spoke, his voice was strained. “After all I’ve done for you, I expect you to be wanting.”

The woman nipped at his throat as he adjusted his position, fingers sliding over his tip, and he hissed hot breath into her shoulder.

“You are an unholy vision, so beautiful, my dear,” Death gritted out, as she guided him towards her entrance. She teased him, her naked flesh grinding against his own but not quite enveloping him, and Severyn’s breathless laugh evaporated when he pinned her again to the chaise--fingers intertwined. He thrust inside her, slowly, waited for her to accommodate him before he moved any more. If she had been in any other situation, Severyn would have teased him on his “gentlemanly behavior.” Her thoughts in the here and now, though, were muddled with need and nothing else. She writhed under her lover, digging her nails into his still-clothed back and listening earnestly for his reaction. His hips stuttered at that, a gasp whispering through his open mouth as he pressed a blistering kiss to her mouth.

“Please, keep going,” she murmured into his jaw, and could feel him nod in reply. He moved his hips against hers, taking his time, but soon speeding up as she pressed her open mouth to his throat, leaving dark red marks in her wake. The two of them rocked against each other in tandem, hands entangled in fabric and hair and skin. Severyn ground against her lover fervently at every stroke, and he in turn moved his callused fingers over her swollen clit, eliciting heated curses and gasps all the while.

Death whispered a harried, low warning into Severyn’s ear, and withdrew from her, reluctant. She followed, kissing and biting anywhere she could reach, all the while her hand moving around his length. With a harsh growl, he drew her into a fervent kiss and spilled himself over her hand.

 

* * *

 

They sat on the chaise, arms around each other and regaining their breath for a few moments, but Death moved first to break the embrace. He plucked a handkerchief from an inner pocket of his jacket, wiping away the mess he had made. Severyn couldn’t see his face, but she was sure it was flushed as hers.

“It’s late. The last of the guests will be leaving by now, I would assume,” he said, composure beginning to return.

“Oh...yes, I suppose,” Severyn responded, still breathless and complacent.

“Can you stand?”

“I--think so, yes,” She responded, and shakily stood. Her shoes had been lost somewhere in their escapade, as had her smallclothes--though it wasn’t a great loss, she would be loathe to leave evidence behind. Luckily, Death recovered them from under the chaise, and Severyn sighed with relief. His voice was cool as he adjusted his mask and cravat.

“I must take my leave before you do, I apologize. There is work to be done. But I do hope this night stays with you, my dear. Take solace in the fact that you are bounds above the plain women who make themselves known at these parties.” Death grazed his lips over the back of Severyn’s hand as he stalked away through the shelves. She barely had formed the words “goodbye” before the masked man slipped from the library into the darkened corridors of the second floor. She was left in the candlelit room with naught but her thoughts and rumpled clothes, the scent of their union still heavy in the air. Eventually, she left the library, fell into a crowd of drunken revelers as she left the estate.

 

* * *

 

Severyn returned to the Cheydinhal sanctuary two days later, a report of the contract written with the racy details left out stuffed into her assassin’s garb. The day of her return was normal as normal could be; she received her payment from Vicente Valtieri who praised her work as he always did, chatted with her roommate Telaendril as she prepared for her own contract.

It was only later, when she was walking to the training room in the evening that she and the Speaker of the Dark Brotherhood, Lucien Lachance, crossed paths. Severyn bowed her head, ever respectful, and he inclined his ever so slightly. She raised her gaze a second before he did, glimpsed a somehow familiar red-violet mark at his collar, a line of stubble along a sharp, olive-toned jaw.

He said nothing, but she could have sworn that she saw him smile as he walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i died writing this; there's wifi in heaven  
> here's your smut ya filthy heathens


End file.
